#I need answers and simultaneously fear them

[a-demonic-duck-of-some-sort]

Hey Tumblr

I know you’re going through some things at the moment. Kinda on life support. Don’t have the time to quality control all your ads. I get it.

But what

The fuck

Is this?

This is not a real show. Nothing you can say to me can possibly convince me that this is a real show.

This is a rogue Cocomelon animator’s immature vent project AT BEST. No one would greenlight a show called Harry Bush. No one would WRITE a show called Harry Bush. No one would design a character called Harry Bush and inexplicably make him look like a four year old with a full beard and a farmer tan

Seriously, why does he have so few teeth? Why was this poster designed to look like a predatory kids YouTube channel, with the only major difference being a more aggressive shark? Why does he have a different number of fingers on each hand?

I don’t even think this is AI, I just think this is inexplicable. There is no world where this poster or title are attached to a real show, and if I’m wrong and Harry Bush is actually somehow beloved by the masses, then I’m jumping into the sea

[seresinhangmanjake]

Could I request Feyd and reader’s wedding from “his”? Or maybe how her life changes once she’s his wife and not his mistress? I lovelovelove all the prequels, but I’m so interested to see their future together!

Forever His

Feyd-Rautha x concubine!reader

Notes/Warnings: barely smut. discussions of babies. thank you for the request and for reading <3

Words: 1350

Feyd-Rautha Masterlist / Main Masterlist / Tag List

You’re his now. Completely. Entirely. 

Before, anyone could have attempted to touch you, talk to you, insult you—though unwise—and no one but Feyd would have blinked an eye. Neither would they have assumed that such disrespectful behavior toward you would result in their death. A concubine is meant to be touched, spoken to however one pleases, insulted if it’s what a man needs to relieve the stress and frustration from his body. With the exception of Leto Atredies, Feyd’s the only Lord you’ve heard of who has ever given a fuck about the concubine they keep while simultaneously demanding respect for them. And on his part to ensure that, Feyd put secret rules in place when it came to you that men did not often follow. 

Being so heartless by nature, no one would expect a Harkonnen to care about anyone other than themselves—it’s risky to hint that the cold-blooded are capable of running a little warmer than rumor suggests—and for Feyd to lay out his care for you to the masses would have undoubtedly led to your death, whether by the hands of enemies or the Baron himself. But that didn’t stop Feyd from enforcing his rules and the repercussions for breaking them.

Those rules led to the deaths of many, most dramatically of his brother and a Caladanian diplomat, and it’s a wonder Feyd was able to talk himself out of the responsibility for their lives when the Baron called for an explanation. But he did. Feyd kept you alive, untouched by others, unbothered by others, respected by others because you were always his. His, at first labeled so in one way, and now, labeled so in another—as a wife. 

His wife. A Lady once more—not of your home planet, but of Giedi Prime—and though your renewed status may not change the way a Harkonnen man needs to present himself to the universe, Feyd can now be who he wants to be without the Baron lifting an eyebrow. He doesn’t have to pretend not to care for you as deeply as he does, and neither do you have to fear the choices he was making for your sake. 

From the moment Feyd kissed you in front of those who declared the validity of Geidi Prime marriages, your worries were instructed to fall in line with the duties of a wife. But with Feyd—for Feyd—it’s easy. Be his woman; stand by his side; and bear him an heir. And those things, you can do. 

—

His fingers are digging into your hips, helping guide your movements as you grind and shift your hips. He never let you on top before, and he never answered you when you asked why, but you knew it was his method of protection. A psychological need that extended to the physicalities of sex. He had to be the looming one, the consuming one, the one who shielded the other from dangers that were not present in the confines of your room. But that changed as your title changed. You’re allowed to be freer now—uninhibited—and Feyd has been willing to teach you how.

His back teeth clench, jaw sharpening with his final grunt of pleasure. With his hand on your neck, he pulls you down, lips claiming yours as he spills inside of you for the third time in the night. 

Your chest rises and falls in sync with his as you come down from the high, and then he rolls you onto your back, remaining inside of you to keep his seed from leaving your body. “Do you think it worked this time?” you ask as you regain even breaths. 

“Doesn’t matter,” he says as he tries to do the same. “We aren’t going to stop until you’re pregnant with my heir. We aren’t going to stop even once you are.”

Your chuckle is cut short by another press of his lips. Then, there is a press on your jaw. Then another on your neck. Then that kiss turns into little bites that are sure to leave marks. It feels too good to stop him, though you probably should. One of the things that works against you as a wife that did not as a concubine is the marks he makes on your body that cannot be covered by clothing. Nibbles, scratches, bruises—all acceptable on the skin of a concubine. Not as much on the skin of a bride. But it’s a propriety that Feyd could not care less for. 

“Feyd…” The vibration from his hum tickles your throat. “I’ll get stares.” Glares, more like. 

He pulls back with a quirked brow. “Ladies from other Houses eye the marks I give you and suddenly you’re bothered? What for?” He hums again, low, deep. His voice matches. “They’re jealous their Lords don’t fuck them like I fuck you.”

You snicker. “Maybe.”

Not maybe, definitely. However, you know it extends past the attention those women do not receive from their men. The fact that you were a concubine at all raises their hackles. While the Emporer and Lords have their meetings, the Ladies sit aside, offering words when requested but otherwise remaining silent, and in that silence, they have much time to think and scrutinize and judge. 

They don’t care that you were a Lady of your own planet before Feyd; they care what Feyd made you and then remade you when he decided he loved you. And now, you remind them too much of their own circumstances: a wife competing with a concubine. Except you were the concubine and then the wife while they are the wives shadowed by concubine counterparts. You’re an image of what they will never have and what their husbands wish they could have with the women they’d prefer. 

“They’re never going to like you,” Feyd interrupts your thoughts when he sees you’re lost.

“I don’t need them to like me,” you tell him. You prefer the company of the other concubines anyway—those brought alongside the wives for their Lords. Despite the complexities of your past, you connect with them better. “But either way, you need to be more considerate.”

“No,” he counters, “I need to fuck and touch and kiss my new wife however I want, and she needs to condemn anyone who gives her trouble for it.” You mock a gasp of offense. “You expect me to hold myself back with you? You want me to restrain myself when I’m trying to put a baby inside of you?”

“You make it sound silly.”

“It is,” he says. “I don’t whine about the marks you make on me.”

“Because Lords marvel at badges of honor,” you tell him, rolling your eyes. 

Feyd’s chuckle is your favorite sound. You rarely heard it before your wedding—he was always too stressed over you, concerned about your well-being—but you became addicted the moment it hit your ears. 

You wince at the discomfort of him finally pulling out, and your body instinctively follows as if to keep him where he was. When he falls onto his back, he tucks you into his side. 

“What do you think it’ll be?” he suddenly asks you.

You’re momentarily thrown off until you realize where his mind has shifted. Snuggling against him, you say, “I don’t care. As long as it’s healthy.”

“It will be,” he says.

“And as long as we can keep it safe,” you add.

Feyd swallows. You know there’s a part of him that is aware the life you have is not the life you were meant to have; that this life is a product of your lack of safeguarding; that you were taken as a prize; that he took you. And no matter the joy you’ve expressed or your previous unwillingness to consider leaving him—not that he ever entertained returning you—trying to have a child has made it impossible for him to forget how you met. He struggles. Something in you appreciates that about him. It means you helped to change him for the better. It means when he becomes a father, he will approach it differently than his own parents once did. 

“We can,” he promises you. “And we will.”

[fluentmoviequoter]

I'm Closer

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!wife!reader

Summary: During a string of break-ins in your neighborhood, you have to stay home alone while Tim works a night shift. When the intruder gets close to you, you remember Tim is always closer.

Warnings: depictions of breaking and entering, anxiety/fear, vague threat, fluff and comfort

Word Count: 1.8k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Rules

When Tim returns home, you’re sitting in the corner of the couch with your knees pulled up towards your chest as you type on your phone. He sighs and locks the door behind him.

“Where?” he asks, moving to stand behind you before he lays his hands on your shoulders.

“Two streets over,” you answer. “The Clarksons.”

You click the power button and toss your phone aside before you stand on the couch. Tim’s hands fall to your hips as he tilts his head back to look at you.

“How many is that?” you ask softly.

“Fifteen,” he replies. “There was one yesterday afternoon, we were investigating it all morning. Seven detectives and not a single lead between them.”

Leaning forward, you place your hands on Tim’s shoulders. He lifts your hips and pulls you carefully over the back of the couch. Before your feet touch the ground, you move your arms around Tim’s shoulders and hug him tightly.

“What if we’re next?” you ask against his neck.

Tim doesn’t answer right away, opting to tighten his grip on you as he moves one hand to smooth over the back of your head. He understands your concern. You have both been on edge since the second reported robbery. Fifteen break-ins in your neighborhood in less than three weeks is more than enough cause for concern. Each report makes Tim more eager to get the thief in cuffs but simultaneously discourages him from leaving you home alone. You’ve been triple-checking locks even when he is home, so he can’t imagine the weight you’re carrying when he’s gone.

“I’ve been driving by every few hours,” Tim tells you. “And Wade has patrol officers all over this area. We’re going to catch him.”

You nod against Tim. You desperately want to believe him but refuse to let your guard down. Tim mumbles something against your hair, and you pull back just enough to tilt your chin up.

He sighs, then says, “I have to work the night shift tomorrow. If you want to go stay somewhere else, I get it.”

You shake your head and take Tim’s hand, leading him toward your bedroom. “There really haven’t been any leads? Not even what kind of house they’re targeting or anything?”

“Nothing,” Tim laments. “Whoever this is, they don’t seem to be picky.”

“Comforting.”

Tim chuckles at your tone, then wraps his arms around you again. You never feel safer than when you’re in Tim’s arms. Neither of you are the kind of person to run from a fight, so you will stay in your home tomorrow, alone, and trust Tim and his fellow officers to find the bad guy before anything else happens.

“I could ask Smitty to park his car in the driveway for his hourly naps, try to scare anyone off with the sight of a police car coming and going,” Tim suggests.

“That would work great until they see the donut-hungover cop in it,” you joke.

“Call me tomorrow night, okay? For anything.”

“I will,” you promise. “I love you, Tim.”

The following night, after you kiss Tim goodbye and promise again to call him if you need something and to check in often, you walk into the kitchen and begin cooking yourself dinner. You aren’t hungry, you're too concerned with checking each car that drives by the window and ensuring no one can see inside the house. You walk through the house and check the locks as your food cooks. Everything is fine, you remind yourself as you carry your food to the couch. You turn on the television, hoping it will serve as a welcome distraction until you’re ready for bed.

Tim looks away from the computer monitor before him to check his watch. You’re probably getting ready for bed, and your last update was only a few minutes ago when you said everything was fine and the closest neighbors were home from work.

“Grey,” he calls.

“Two patrol cars are circling now,” Wade answers without looking up from his folder. “Everything’s quiet.”

Tim nods to himself, then clicks his keyboard to resume the security camera footage. Lucy yawns beside him, and Tim resists asking Wade which officers are in your neighborhood. If something were to happen, you’d be more likely to call Tim than dispatch, and he’d like to know who is close.

“She’ll be fine,” Lucy assures him softly.

“She better be,” he responds before watching a man in a bright red tracksuit enter a gas station with a gun in his hand.

You enter the guest room across the hall from your master suite with your phone in your hand to ensure the windows are locked. The windows on this side of your house aren’t very easily accessible, but you check them regardless. In your pajamas and ready for bed, you tug on the window latch and nod when it doesn’t move. Raising your phone, you open your text thread with Tim and begin typing a message. You pause when something makes a scraping noise outside. It goes silent, and several seconds later, you resume typing.

Just before you hit send, a loud pop echoes through the hallway before the undeniable noise of a window sliding open reaches your ears. Two soft footsteps follow soon after, and you begin to panic. You look around for something to defend yourself with, then suddenly remember that Tim told you to take cover first and then defend yourself only if necessary in a situation like this.

The closet door is open, so you grab the nearest object before sliding onto the floor beneath the extra clothes. Carefully, quietly, you pull the door closer to the jamb, then sit back in the dark corner and call Tim.

Tim pauses the surveillance video, zooms in, and gets a clear image of the suspect’s driver’s license as he removes his wallet to pay for a Red Bull. He rolls his eyes at the criminal’s stupidity but mentally thanks him for saving Tim some time finding him. Tim’s phone rings, and Lucy jerks as if she had been asleep.

“Hello?” Tim asks, pushing away from the desk as he waits to hear your voice.

“Tim,” you whisper, clearly panicked.

He stands immediately and lowers his voice to ask, “What’s wrong?”

You take a shaky, shallow breath that tightens Tim’s chest before you say, “Someone’s in the house. I was checking the windows, and then there was a pop in out bedroom I think… Tim, I can hear their footsteps, please come home.”

Tim jumps over the desk he’d been seated at, ignores the calls of his coworkers, and runs through the station to get to his truck. He knows he should alert Grey, dispatch, or anybody, but his thoughts are on getting home and ensuring you’re safe.

“Talk to me,” Tim requests as he slams the door of his truck closed and starts the engine.

“Tim,” you whimper, clutching your phone as your hands shake. “I think they’re going down the hall.”

“I’m on my way,” he promises. The radio in his truck lights up, and he hopes someone saw something and the officers in your neighborhood are on their way.

You murmur something that Tim can’t decipher but remain silent when he asks you to repeat yourself. The truck’s transmission revs as he presses the accelerator to the floor, fighting to keep his mind away from the worst-case scenario. As he turns onto your street, setting a new record for how fast the commute has ever been driven, Tim slams the gearshift into park several houses down. He leaves the truck running with the door open as he runs down the street and unlocks a side entrance to enter.

“I’m here,” he whispers to you before entering the house. He puts his phone in his pocket and raises his gun as he moves carefully through the house. You’re hiding somewhere but thought the unwelcomed visitor was coming toward the main part of the house. A door clicks somewhere down the hall, and Tim abandons his goal of clearing the kitchen to find you.

In the guestroom closet, you hold your phone to your ear with one hand while pressing the other to your mouth to muffle your breathing. The door into the bedroom clicks as it is pushed open farther, and you push yourself against the wall behind you. Tim is in the house somewhere, but your mind is racing with panic and fear. You peek through the gap in the door and see a masked intruder moving carefully through the room. Suddenly, he turns toward the closet, and you close your eyes.

Tim looks into your bedroom, where the window latch has been blown off by a small explosive device, but sees no evidence of anyone currently inside. The door across the hall, however, stands wide open. With his gun ready, Tim crosses the hall and presses his back to the wall before stepping inside.

“LAPD, stop where you are,” he demands.

The masked man stops, halfway between Tim and the closet. Tim sees the closet door isn’t completely closed and wonders if that’s where you are. Sirens sound outside, and Tim takes another step into the room.

“Hands up,” he instructs. “Interlace your fingers and place them behind your head.”

“You’re too late,” the man taunts.

Tim ignores him, and how his stomach rolls at the idea that anything could have happened to you while his phone was in his pocket. “Kneel.” Once the man is on the ground, an officer announces his presence downstairs, and Tim shoves the man unceremoniously toward the hallway and yells his location and that there is one in custody.

Then, Tim abandons his duty to keep the suspect secure as he turns toward you. He opens the closet door carefully, then drops to his knees. When you see him, you lower your phone and reach for Tim. He takes your hands and pulls you closer, whispering promises that you’re safe and he will never put you in this position again.

“When I said to always have something to protect yourself, I meant something a bit more substantial than a bowl,” Tim says, reaching for the jewelry tray you grabbed before hiding.

“It’s heavy,” you defend weakly.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t here.”

“You’re here now.”

Tim pulls you closer, blocking out the noise of the officers apprehending the intruder, and your adrenaline wears off as you realize you can feel safe at home again.

“How did you get here so fast?” you ask as Tim helps you stand.

“Don’t tell Wade but I broke a few laws.”

You laugh and then furrow your brows. “How did he get in?”

“Right,” Tim remembers. “We need a new window.”

“He was really close,” you murmur.

Tim gently holds your chin as he kisses your forehead. “I’m closer,” he vows before cupping your cheeks and kissing you.

[rocketbirdie]

YOU. You are correct about Cloud Strife. Everything you say about him is CORRECT

Hi I'm going to use your ask as an opportunity to go on an unhinged tangent about him below the cut.

I believe that EVERYTHING about Cloud Strife as a character makes total sense once you realize: it's autism.

Here's a character whose entire arc revolves around the erosion of his identity and his desperate attempts to adhere to an ideal image, at the expense of his own wellbeing; and how self acceptance is the thing that brings him back from the edge of despair.

Youtube theorycrafters waste hours of their lives trying to piece together Cloud's psyche, when the answer is just... autism. It really is that simple. I will die on this goddamn hill.

In Trace of Two Pasts, we learn that even as a toddler, Cloud really was just... like that. Unemotive and awkward. And the entire lifestream sequence in the OG shows us a young Cloud who behaves in baffling ways. Tifa and her friends invited Cloud into their group, but he rejected their friendship while simultaneously harboring a seething jealousy. How the heck does that work, huh?

Viewing this through the Autism Lens™️, his approach make way more sense. Fearing his own inability to read and reciprocate their intentions, he pushes them away, and the resulting loneliness crushes him. He mistakes that loneliness for anger. He turns that anger outwards and gets into fights. Because the other kids don't understand him, Cloud sees them as stupid and immature. It's the perfect recipe for disastrous distrust. The tragic result is that, when Tifa gets into her accident, Cloud is immediately blamed by kids AND adults. He's seen as inherently dangerous and unpredictable, even though he did nothing wrong. It's like they were already looking for the perfect excuse to hate him.

The worst part is, because he struggles to articulate his own thoughts and feelings, he starts to just... accept what other people say about him. He's a pain in the ass. He's a selfish brat. He could try being a bit nicer. Any attempt that he makes to argue, backfires and proves their points even more. He's being childish. He needs to get his shit together. Nothing's ever good enough for him. He stops fighting it and lets people drag him around and violate his boundaries, because no matter how loud he yells or how intelligently he argues, nothing he says ever reaches their ears. He trims away more and more of himself to try and appease others and nurse the constant emotional pain. (And that's not even addressing the entire traumatic *waves hands* everything that he's gone through by the time he reaches Midgar! That would have to be its own tangent lol.)

It's hard to watch as a player; the secondhand embarrassment of Cloud's social blunders is immense. Some people don't like Cloud as a video game protagonist, which is perfectly valid. But a lot of times, they justify their opinion by perpetuating the same damaging language. He's an asshole, he's a weirdo, he hates people. The irony would be hilarious if it wasn't so frustrating. I know Cloud is just a fictional character, he doesn't need to be defended from harsh criticisms. But I can't help but wonder what these players think about the "weird people-hating assholes" that they meet in real life.

It also makes me wonder if they were even paying attention. I think the games make it pretty damn obvious what's going on. He's an asshole because other characters treat him like one before they even get to know him. He hates people because he doesn't understand them, and they don't even try to understand him. He's a weirdo because he has a strange way of showing how deeply he loves and cares, and he's afraid that his love will be misinterpreted like every other emotion he's ever dared to show.

The autism is everywhere. It permeates his entire being. It's in his silly responses when he takes things too literally. It's in his painfully practical way with words. It's in the stiff expressionless look and the flat tone of voice. It's in him constantly adjusting his gloves, shifting his weight, looking down at his feet. It's in his questionable idea of what you're supposed to do with your body at a yoga session. It's in the half a dozen flustered high fives, it's in the motion sickness. It's in the contagious eagerness with his special interests in SOLDIER and materia and chocobos.

It's in the moments where the facade crumbles and we get to see the real Cloud, the one that Aerith knew was in there— the one that Tifa finds in the lifestream— the one that Zack gave his life for— the Cloud that cherishes the whole world. He's got so much of everything inside of his heart, and he doesn't know how to get it out. You'd be a weird asshole about it, too.

[alexawynters]

Mommy Knows Best - w.m x r blurb

Summary: Wanda convincing R to let her to all the thinking for her

Warnings: Ehhh... allusions to manipulation, kidnapping, stalking.

A/N: So ahhh... I wrote this in 15 minutes while at work in a part of the office I very much didn't want to be in. This isn't connected to anything. I don't intend on expanding this bc I have no spoons and the plot bunnies won't settle on anything definitively. But if anybody wants to take a crack at it, pleeeeaaase do! Just like.. link me so I can read it because I am thirsty. Also all of this was typed up on my phone so sorry for any typos, or formatting issues. I left my laptop at home today like a dumbass..

Wanda's hand cradled your face with a gentle yet possessive grip. "I knew that you needed me the moment I laid eyes on you in that coffee shop."

Your eyes widened at the older woman's confession. Out of all the times you had met up with Wanda, it had never been at a coffee shop. Her implication that she had been watching you sent a bolt of fear down your spine.

"Such a sweet little thing, so easily flustered." She appraised you with a keen eye, searching for any hint that you might try to run. "You were just trying to substitute the milk in your coffee order, yet you couldn't even do that without nearly breaking out into tears. Poor thing. You just needed your Mommy to do all your difficult thinking for you, huh?"

The older woman's voice had taken on an almost saccharine quality, while simultaneously dripping with condescension. You couldn't have explained it if you tried, but something about her tone, her words, turned your head all fuzzy.

Alarm bells that should have been clanging loudly were but a distant detail in your peripheral, not worthy of your attention when the alternative was listening to Wanda's honeyed voice. You should be concerned. A normal person would be leaving this crazy woman as fast as their legs could carry them. Yet instead, you practically meted into Wanda's touch, almost craving it.

The witch gave a subtle smirk at the way your eyes glossed over when she talked down to you. This was going to be even easier than Wanda had thought. She might not even need to use her magic if you were already this responsive to her. Frankly, Wanda was delighted.

"Use your words, kotenok. I know you're just a dumb baby, and words are hard, but when Mommy asks you a question, I expect an answer."

Her grip turned firm, border lining on painful. Glassy eyes snapped open.

"Y-yes, Mommy. I just needed you to do all the thinking for me."

Your face flushed bright red as you spoke the words, but you couldn't bring yourself to take them back. Now that they had been released into the universe, the words rang true for you. They simply felt... right. Your trusting gaze met Wanda's domineering one, seeking any sign of her approval.

The older woman gave a salacious grin, very much reminiscent of a cat who caught the canary. "There's my good girl," she cooed, caressing the apple of your cheek with her thumb.

Lulled into a false sense of safety and security, you tilted your head. Leaning into her touch, you were practically simpering from her praise and touch. Why had you ever been concerned, you wondered? This was Wanda. She would always take care of you. She would never even dream of harming you. If only you knew the extent of the very real danger you were in, you might have tried to run. Not that you would have gotten far, but Wanda might have enjoyed the thrill of the chase.

Nevertheless, she had you right where she wanted you and why make it unpleasant when you were so... willing? The witch reveled in how pliant you were. Like putty in her hands, ready to be shaped and molded into the perfect plaything for her.

"Now kotenok," she said softly. "Why don't you go get changed into something comfortable and we can watch movies? I took the liberty of bringing over some of your clothes from your apartment as you won't be staying there anymore."

The former Avenger patted your cheek gently, sending you off on your way. It was only a few feet you had made before hesitating, turning to look at the older woman.

"Mommy...." You tried the title, and it rolled off your tongue surprisingly easily. "Why. won't I be staying at my apartment anymore? I'm still paying rent on it for another seven months." Uncertainty rolled off of you in waves.

Wanda bit the inside of her cheek, reigning her temper in. She needed to be understanding, but firm with you if she planned to get you completely under her thumb without scaring you off.

"You let Mommy worry about all of that. Those are big girl thoughts, and you wanted Mommy to do all the thinking for you, isn't that right?" Her voice was filled with exaggerated patience and condescension.

Part of you wanted to push the question. If you weren't going to be staying at your flat anymore then Wanda must mean for you to stay with her. Unfortunately, you couldn't afford rent in both places, so if you needed to sublet your flat, the sooner you knew for sure, the better. Not once did you question how, when, or why the redhead had picked up your clothes, being so focused about this rent situation.

Still, as you caught Wanda's steadily hardening gaze due to your lack of immediate cooperation, you could have sworn you almost saw a subtle flash of scarlet in her eyes. Opting not to upset the woman you were quickly falling for, you promptly turned on your heel, intent on doing as she had asked.

Unbeknownst to you, Wanda Maximoff was observing your trailing form with a razor-sharp gaze. She felt triumphant, everything was going according to plan, and you were honestly making it too easy on her. Soon you would belong to her, and by the time you realized, it would be too late.

A/N 2: What are we thinking? Bin it? Try to write it from the beginning? Or maybe keep going and only have the beginning appear in flashback format? I know I need to update Scarlet Whispers and I'm gonna, I swear! Just... effort. lol

[undiscovered-horizon]

(tw for self-harm -> literally hitting a tree with a bare fist)

[Tav has to carry the world on their shoulders. But when they begin to question this responsibility and the unfairness of it, they need someone to make sure their grief doesn't destroy them.]

Enjoying my work? You can leave me a tip on Ko-Fi | Have a request?

Astarion knows that something is very off when you drop your bag and disappear behind the tree line, never even acknowledging his existence. The certain skip in your step, a bravado of "There's no mountain I can't move" is completely gone, nowhere to be seen. Now, something more sinister has taken its place - a darkness looming over your shoulder that makes even him shudder. Like you've switched places with another creature.

He notices Shadowheart and Gale watching your departure, both of them fidgeting in their stillness. Their hesitancy is all too obvious. Then, they exchange a look of both concern and inquiry. In awkward silence, Gale and Shadowheart part ways, simultaneously deciding to let you have your space.

Be it his curiosity or worry for you that he so vehemently denies, Astarion marches off in the direction he has seen you go, only to disappear behind the trees. He passes by Gale, who grabs Astarion's arm. The bruises on the wizard's face look almost black in the twilight of the campsite.

"I wouldn't do that, Tav is a little..." he hangs his voice as his eyes glance towards the dense forest, "beside themself."

The vampire wears his scowl like a crown. He yanks his arm from Gale's grasp and makes a show of straightening the fabric of his decorative shirt. "Wonderful advice. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to happily ignore it."

Without awaiting a rebuttal, Astarion continues his march towards the dense, dark forest where he hopes to find you.

The warm, yellow hue of the campfire quickly disappears as the man ventures into the woods. Low shrubbery keeps nipping at his clothes, almost making him more worried about the state of his pants than your well-being. He is about to call out your name when he hears a loud, muffled thud.

What in Hells is that?

Following the sound, Astarion finally finds you - beaten, bruised. Your clothes look like you haven't washed them since crawling out of the Nautiloid. The blood covering your knuckles glistens in the moonlight as you take another swing at the tree trunk. Another thud resounds in the empty forest. A dent behind to show in the wood where the bark has already been broken off. Just how long have been doing this? More importantly: why are you doing this to yourself?

No matter his confusion and burning worry, Astarion manages to pull himself together. He knows that the last thing you need right now is him blowing up at you, masking his fear for your state of mind with irritation.

"And what did this poor tree ever do to you, darling?" he finally calls out in a light-hearted tone. Truthfully, he couldn't be farther from playful jokes and jabs.

"Just leave me alone," you answer in a harsh tone as you punch the tree trunk once more. A whine escapes your lips as your tender, wounded hand meets the hard wood again.

He's taken aback - you don't normally talk this way. This unforeseen and much unwelcome, sudden change makes him all the more concerned.

Astarion stops close behind you, his arms crossed across his chest. He's unsure what to do. "Not until you tell me what's gotten into you," he states in a firm tone.

You growl in response. "It's so," you hang your voice to hit the tree, "fucking" you punch the trunk again, "unfair!" you scream out.

Your bloodied, trembling hand is about to land another punch but something, someone, stops you. Astarion lunges forward, pressing his chest against your back and grabbing your arms. His firm grasp forces you to keep your hands close to your body.

"Why do I have to decide who lives or dies?!" you continue yelling as you try to ineffectively wiggle out of the man's iron grasp. "I never wanted to be the hero who saves the world! I never asked for any of this!" Suddenly, your defiance disappears. Tired, hopeless and sore, you let yourself lean against his chest. "So why does it have to be me?" you whisper in a weak voice. Then you shudder as tears begin flowing down your cheeks.

The great hero falls and it is only natural that their fall must be of equal grandeur.

Astarion feels your hands shake but he's not sure whether it's because you've scraped their skin down to raw muscle or because you're crying out all the pent-up anger, grief and anxiety. No matter what's the truth, his undead heart breaks all the same.

"My sweet, sweet love," he whispers into your ear. His cold lips brush against the conch before he softly pecks your neck. "Anyone else would do it wrong."

Part of him wants to add 'except for me, of course' but he knows, deep down in his viscera, that even he would falter. So he remains quiet until your sobbing silences and your trembling comes to a stop. Astarion's grip never eases down until you've collected yourself, holding you tight against him as though you're fine porcelain that even a mere gust of wind could shatter into pieces.

__ Guys when I tell you I almost tripped running to my laptop to write this

[imbecominggayer]

Writing Advice: Too Many Characters

A common advice when writing stories is "don't write too many characters". But, like with everything creative and good, there is no definitive answer to how many characters should be in a book!

So I will be discussing numerous variables in storytelling which impacts how many characters you should have and what makes something in a book "pointless".

Themes! Themes! Themes! (Omori Spoilers, Not Too Much)

The most important question that a writer has to ask themself is "what is this scene/book/media trying to do?". If your story is based on the relationships we have with others and the impact they can have on our psyche then having a close-knitted community of people will drive the message of intimate connection better then just having more people in there. If your story is focused primarily on introspection, looking inward, individuality, and other spiritual activities then the protagonist is more likely to spend longer durations of the media by themselves.

An example of these to forces is the popular game of Omori.

(SPOILERS ABOUT OMORI<3)

Omori is a game that focuses on acceptance first and foremost. Self-acceptance to be more specific. Due to the fact that the game is a piece of introspection both for Sunny and for the player, the most important moments in the game such as the "reveal" sequence of pictures and Black Space are ones that are done on your own.

However, the game also prioritizes the relationships Sunny has between his friends as this serves as motivation for the final duet. The final duet was an act of bonding as Mari and Sunny just wanted to spend time together, doing something they liked.

The introspection moments are pushed towards the end of the game because it's only when Sunny has that support and belief in his friends, can he rise above his doubt and shame and fear.

2. What Is The Purpose Of This Character?

All characters need to have a purpose in the narrative. Both within the context of the world and in the context of the book.

Within the context of the world, they need a goal that is going to impact the protagonist either positively or negatively.

Within the context of the book, what is this character giving to the audience that wouldn't otherwise be there?

Pro tip: All the characters you have need to have more then one purpose! Characters that give exposition can't JUST give exposition.

If you have a love interest that can be cut out without taking away a vital part of the story either from a thematic(theme) standpoint or a narrative(plot) standpoint, just replace them with an object and move it along!

If you have an ally character that only shows up twice and can be changed into "I went down to the store to buy these items", give that "ally" tag to someone more story relevant"!

3. Priorites?

Ask yourself this: "Do I have the book length to dedicate time to this person?"

If the answer is no, follow my next steps. If the answer is yes, here is how to make them better.

When I say "prioritize", I mean you need to figure out what type of character this character is. Are they a main character? A side character? Cannon fodder? A symbol? WHAT ARE THEY?

Also, can you give these character responsibilities to someone else? This simultaneously gives those characters deeper complexity and eliminates more characters

Example: Love Interest, after being trapped by the villain, uses their intelligence in order to provide information about the villain to the hero. (Love Interest + Ally + Informant)

Example: Friend is revealed to be a double agent on the side of the Villain. However, it's revealed that Friend was secretly a triple agent who is finally redeemed from their original believed betrayal. They're back to being an ally. (Friend + Betrayer + Ally + Enemy)

[ebullientheart]

sleep mad. spencer reid x reader

content — hurt comfort. bau!reader. mention of bau case. short fic.

you don’t let spencer leave your hotel room after a fight.

it was a perfectly normal reaction, to storm out for fresh air after a tense argument. spencer didn’t expect you to literally scream ‘no!’ from behind him. he turned on his heel so fast, recognising the fear in your voice from case victims, preparing himself to see you being attacked. he wasn’t prepared for the onslaught of tears, and no criminal presence.

when the two of you disagreed, it was almost always with quiet voices and levelled frustration. this time was no different. neither of you had yelled, cursed, or become enraged. it was irritation and exhaustion at the root of it, and it wasn’t worth the look on your face now. his own eyes shot wide in concern, spencer saw how you visibly trembled in the doorway, despite the evening being uncharacteristically warm, humid even. in the dingy light from the hotel hallway, he could hardly make out the contours of your face, but he could imagine what it must have looked like. why had you shouted?

you swiped messily at the damp rivets dug into your cheeks from the sudden fit of crying, effectively willing yourself to stop as you folded your arms defensively. your voice was wavering but firm as you said, “no. if you want space, i’ll go sit on the fire escape, but you can’t… you can’t leave this late spence.”

he raised a brow at you. usually, he disliked being told what to do, but that clearly wasn’t your intention here. spencer could clearly see the terror on your face, but he couldn’t decipher what you were so afraid of. so, forgetting the rule to not profile each other, he asked. you reached forward and tugged him into the room by his forearm, ever gentle, before spinning away to leave him be. but he didn’t want space anymore, he wanted answers.

“what’s going on?”

knowing you could never successfully lie to spencer, you sighed and dug your hands into your pockets. you felt guilty for not allowing him what he’d needed to cool off, but you couldn’t let him leave like that while working this case. each of the three victims left behind a brokenhearted spouse, each of which you’d been interviewing since eight that morning. the last was the worst, breaking down fully in jj’s arms, wracked with uncontrollable sobbing as they explained the last interaction they’d shared was a verbally vicious fight. their last words were venomous, and no peace was made.

“tell me.” spencer’s demand was soft. he sat on the edge of the hotel bed, and your heart twisted as the new angle enunciated the dark circles stamped beneath his eyes. you were sure you sported a matching pair.

you tried your best not to shut down, to communicate, “we… we see so many grievers. how many tell us that their last conversations were full of anger? they… can’t ever accept what happened, move on, because they never go to say ‘i love you’ that last time. they think the other died hating them. if we’re apart, and something happens, and our last words were just mean…”

he listened as you struggled through your explanation, but when you finally trailed off and dropped eye contact, he stood slowly. you heard him pad across the cheap carpet to get close enough to find the palm of your hand, and you let him take it in his own. a light rain had begun to batter the small window.

“you’re right,” spencer whispered, something you rarely hear when dating a genius, “you’re right. our lives are dangerous. but i don’t want us to fight anyway. i’m sorry.”

you sniffed and tried to not think about how pathetic you sounded when you repeated his final sentence back to him, equally as sincere.

spencer thumbed lightly at the dip between your eye and cheekbone, “i love you. now, and when we fight. i- i always love you.”

again, you echoed his sentiment, accompanying it with the sweetest kiss you could press to his jaw. your fingers curled into his hair, carefully undoing a tangle, and simultaneously undoing every knot of tense muscle in his body.

most couples just worried about going to sleep mad. you weren’t sure what it said that your worries centred around one of you being brutally murdered before making up, but you supposed that unique thought process just came with the territory. there was no blanket pulled over your eyes, the world wasn’t hiding it’s most sinister corners from you. or if it was, you sought them out. but those fears that usually haunted you just melted away when you held spencer. you were just like most couples.

two young adults, completely in love, swaying back and forth to the rhythm of your breaths in a crappy hotel, blissfully ignorant to the residents of the rooms either side of you grumbling about being awoken by your hallway confrontation.

a mess of entwined limbs, you eventually made it to bed, to sleep. one of you, or maybe both, uttered an “i love you” every few minutes. an enforced reminder to linger in your half-asleep state, lulling your minds to rest.

sleep came easy, for once.

[evilminji]

I Am? Still? Thinking?? Of My Hive Mind Crechelings Au? (Prev <-)

The Creepy Crechelings? My Fuuuuckin POSSESSED Lil Babies (absolutely affectionate and full of love)?

I CAN'T STOP, man. It's the SOFTEST and WARMEST Epilog? Just... fuck, I wanna cry. It's SO FULL OF LIGHT? So content and happy and "then... our Hero gets to REST. No more struggle. No more pain. Just golden sweetness and simple days."???

The Tragedy Of Darth Vader WAS, ultimately, utterly and completely, because Anakin Skywalker was a GOOD MAN.

Because the Dark took something GOOD and twisted it. Made it MONSTROUS. Killing his soul with ten thousand cuts of doubt and fear. Anger, arrogance, and unwarranted pride. He had COMPASSION. So much love in him he could barely stand to BREATHE.

The world BURNED for how great his Empathy, made the weight of all the universe's suffering, upon his shoulders.

He was GOOD. Could STILL be good. And? The Force DOES work in mysterious ways. It just needs... an in. Someone, ANYONE, to ask the right question. At ANY point. Because it CAN NOT push upon them the answers. Fix for them all life's woes. The Force is not a God... it simple IS. And though it wishes to help, loves them dearly, it can only OFFER what is ASKED for.

And, yes, there are loopholes. Visions and gifts it might give. Technicalities it might work off of. That gut feeling? Well... your INSTINCTS want you to survive. Surely THEY are asking? Are they not? "How do we survive?" They ask. Endlessly. So the Force may answer.

And SURELY, The Force knows, the you of 20 seconds from now, would ASK them to warn you not to eat that fruit. It is poison. That is definitely in line with what you would ask! It can see it. Because Time is simultaneous to the Force. Why, it can even use this to justify, too itself, the Visions! SOMEONE is asking! It can even tell you whom! And when!

It WON'T.

But it COULD.

Yet! Let us focus! Anikin Skywalker!

Do YOU remember how he was born? Oh, sure, we are all PASSINGLY familiar. Born to Shmi Skywalker. "No Father". Etc etc? BUT!!! Details MATTER! And in science? In HEALTH? "Spontaneous Baby" is NOT GOOD ENOUGH.

How. What, SPECIFICALLY, made UP the spontaneous baby? From WHERE? Was it air? Energy? A clone? A hypothetical child of Shmi and some long dead individual she could not possibly have met?

These are important questions! Specifically, important to understand WHAT ANIKIN'S SPECIES IS. Cause "humanoid" is NOT a species! A race! Stewjoni and Naboolians are subtly different! Yes, both human variants. But that's the THING, isn't it?

They. Are. VARIANTS.

As in DIFFERENT. Divergent from one another. Perhaps not A LOT, but enough that their unique medical needs might be significant! Different environmental strains, different diets, different evolutionary paths for thousands of years. In SOME cases? They might no longer be COMPATIBLE anymore! Or barely! A tiger and a cat are both feline, but you'd be blind to mistake them as the same thing.

Then we have Anikin.

Who is haaaaalf??? What exactly?

Well, "The Force" according to research. By means of Sith meddling. But! And for the purpose of this ramble??

He is birth was "a work of the midi-chlorians".

.......let that sink in for a second. The Force channeling, HIVE MINDED, symbiotic micro organisms inside Shmi? Were instructed or guided to? Just take energy? Food and DNA. And... 3D print a baby into existence. They did, obviously, it was easy. But CONSIDER WHAT THAT MEANS.

It MEANS?

Anikin is HALF MIDI-CHLORIAN.

(At least in this AU.)

It's WHY he is so, SO fuckin desperate to connect. So ungodly powerful. So destabilized by not having "attachments". His brain is structured by organisms and half IS, of a sort, the sort of organism that REQUIRES an interconnected system. To offload the massive amount of sensory input the Force gives him. To regulate Big Emotions. To form councils and crunch through problems.

To get those good, good Soul Hugs.

Anikin? Not doing so hot. He's been SURROUNDED by what FEELS like a hive? But they keep EXCLUDING him and he doesn't have the words to explain why that upset him. Why he wants to crawl inside their brains an just... just hang. Not touch anything! Just... just nap! Maybe get a hug? P... Please?

Why does EVERYONE HATE HIM?!

But they don't. They just have different boundaries. Are NOT Hive Minds. THEIR Midi-chlorians? Are not at such a high concentration that it affects their thought patterns.

Unlike? The Creepy Crechelings.

Who absolutely doooooo. THEY are still in the We/Us phase. Boundaries? What Boundaries? We're crawling through each other's brains and on the ceiling! Full of light, love, and horrifying prophecy! Eating sand! Many thoughts, head full! We can taste TIME!!! :D

And it takes a SPECIAL breed of Creche Master with VERY strong shields to interact with them. Mind tricks are both accidental and daily. Poker face of kindness is a must. Good emotional regulation. So when one sees Anikin losing his shit again?

They sigh. Put down their muffin. And go deal with it.

Probably not even awake.

They just feel *Overwhelming Power* and hear upset noises and go "Ah, starting early, today is." Then wander over. And effortlessly defuse the situation. Flop their Force presence on Anikin like a weighted blanket. It would be UNSPEAKABLY rude and invasive to most anyone else? But Obi-Wan just...? Watchs his ex-padawan go BONELESS against this Crech Master he's never met? Like :O

T-teach me. Please, for the love of the Force, teach me to do that.

Next thing you know? They are talking, Obi-Wan getting a crash course in Super Powerful Younglings™ that honestly he should have gotten YEARS ago, but was run too ragged to. And Anikin? Blissed out, high as a kite, at the bottom of a Youngling pile. Mmmmm, lumpy pillow. We gonna sit and sleep and climb all over you, Master Skywalker.

*adoring, emotionally gooey voice* Okay.

He volunteers. Fuck it, he practically LIVES out of that Creche. Padme! Padme, we're adopting. He wants to be a stay at home dad. Build droids. Everything is Beautiful and nothing hurts. *war is still happening* ah. Shit. Right. THAT™.

Okay! New plan. AFTER the war. He has discovered his calling. Is suddenly bonding with Jedi he's never even talked to before. Is that Plo Koon? Plo! PLO! Hey, thanks for lending me that youngling development module! You got any others you recommend?

Him and Obi-Wan? Suddenly getting along better then they have in YEARS. His Master seems genuinely THRILLED he has a clear goal he's working towards and is supporting him ten thousand percent. Openly bragging. Consulting with him. AND? Is so much more OPEN! That Creche Master really helped him Understand how Anikin's brain works!

Which? Leads to Anikin getting healthier. More and more stable. The babies fuckin sneaking aboard. His Men LOSING THEIR SHIT because WHY ARE THERE TUBIES, SIR?! Babies! Infants! Smol, itty bitty, BABY CHILDS!!!???

And? On one hand? He has never felt so clear head and stable as when they are with him. Interconnected. US and WE and THE HIVE. The Force is With Us and We are The Force.

Buuuuuut on the OTHER hand? He is an adult. He CAN seperate what HE wants from what is good for his lil baby friends. This isn't safe. They could get HURT. Die! It... honestly? It makes him think about his mom a lot. He thinks he finally GETS it. Hates that he does. Is in AWE of how strong she was. Hopes he can take the lessons she taught him and live up to them.

Because it's not about what HE wants. It's about what's best for these kids.

They have to go back.

.....except the man he THOUGHT was his friend? THOUGHT was a GOOD MAN? Won't let them LEAVE THE FRONT LINES. Won't even authorize an emergency shuttle. There are vulnerable children. On the FRONT LINES. And Shee-...no. Supreme Chancellor Palpatine, won't let them GET THEM TO SAFETY?

Is THIS what over a decade of friendship means to this man? Is THIS what his "sympathies" are truely WORTH? Empty words and no action? Saying what you want to hear then sitting in his fancy office while CHILDREN are shot at?

Anikin wants to put his fist through a durasteel WALL.

Through some careful maneuvering, some Ships on the way back are are able to pick up the VERY In Trouble kiddos. It'll be about five ship hops. But they'll get there. And in the mean time? The entire GAR now knows where the Chancellor's priorities lay.

But? What to do, what to do? The kiddos are GONE! Anikin's head is gonna start getting crowded. Fuzzy. Crushed up and too small! He literally, physically, NEEDS people. For his mental and ultimately physical health!

"Well... you DID say Midi-chlorians are in every living thing, didn't you? It's just that most Sentients don't have enough to reach the threshold of Force Sensitive. Right?" Says Anikin's medic.

Anikin raises a finger. Opens his mouth to respond.

Considers this genuinely.

Puts DOWN his finger and closes his mouth. Nods. Yes. Yes, they DO. Why? Where exactly are you going with this? Medic taps a message to the GAR in ship message board. Please. You know EXACTLY where he's going with this.

Yeah.

Yeah, Anikin does.

And the Vode? Gotta admit. Having their General curled up like a comm system in the back of their brains? Kiiiiinda weird at first. But he's not? Actually? Touching anything? It's kinda like having someone follow you around, hanging off your shoulders in a hug. Because they feel needy and desperately need the contact. Little awkward? Yeah.

But we move on.

And the General respects boundaries. Politely pulls back and out/away when they want "personal" time. Something he had practice doing cause he's in a relationship. And there are Thoughts and Feelings you DO NOT want to share with younglings. It apparently helped him learn to shield. Quickly. Very, VERY quickly.

They only laugh at him a little bit.

He imagines throwing pillow blocks at them.

But THEN? One of them gets a head wound. Nothing to terrible. But bad enough that the midi-chlorians flow up to the area, to help speed up and properly regulate the healing. Because their's have become more active. Not STRONGER mind you. Just... more ACTIVE.

And they can fucking FEEL their General mentally screech to a full stop. Perfectly, utterly, FURIOUSLY Blank. Like the dead silence before the blaster bolts start flying. Like just after the flash but before the blast hits. A terrible, TERRIBLE silence.

Something is Wrong.

"What Is That?"

What is... WHAT? Sir?

And then things move very, very quickly. All things possible, through the Force. A baby created. Chips UN-created. It really is? Just directing the Midi-chlorians all ready THERE to do what you want them too. Offering up some extra energy, if needed. A Leader to guide the hive.

One deep enough meditation, reaching though-out "HIS" sprawling body? Really, what is the difference between purging a chip from your thigh in THIS body? And being over there? Or over there? What are "walls" or "distance" or this silly concept of "other"?

We Are One With The Force, And The Force Is One With US.

He is every Vode on the Ship. He is Anikin Skywalker. He was a Slave. But now? NOW both he and they and US? Are FREE. He will suffer no slaves in his presence. No more chips or collars with bombs. Time to free the others. Free everyone. Demand ANSWERS.

And they do.

The epilog? Oh THAT I can not stop thinking of.

Padme in the senate. Fierce and accomplished. A storied carrier fighting for the people of the galaxy. Anikin a Creche Master for the POWERFUL kiddos. The strange ones who need someone sturdy.

Who can handle their Us/We phase with grace. Who learns and grows, honors and remembers Shmi Skywalker every time one of them one of them starts to pull away. Starts to develop boundaries. Barriers. Starts to want to be their OWN person. Has not just grown strong in shielding but old enough to develop a defined personality, seperate from their friends.

The twins growing up with a whole Creche of siblings. Because their parents LIVE at the temple. Their mother works at the senate! They wave bye-bye every morning. And spend the day with dad. Not separated, not quite living with them fully either. Not after infancy at least. But the Order is changing.

Vode everywhere. Kids born of Jedi. The Corps withdrawn back to the temple to help handle the influx. Lots of debates about Tradition and Change that Anikin care not a lick about. HE'S taking his Crechelings to the Naboolian Embassy's Spring Festival. Does everyone remember how to be polite? Say "hello"! *various smol children chorus Hello in Naboolian, badly but very earnestly*

Just? Field trips. Droids and Vode dropping by to say hello. Padme being the LION of the senate while her retired kindergarten tearcher equivalent, war hero husband cheers. Adorable but freaky children popping out of the vents. Anikin treating his tiny squad of Tiny Anti-christ Acting Babies as though this were TOTALLY NORMAL and just how children act.

SOFT AND FLUFFY EPILOG~☆

@legitimatesatanspawn @babbling-babull @hypewinter @hdgnj @spidori @tiredafel

[frostbitedoesstuff]

I wanted to make this post not to address anyone in particular, but just for the sake of getting it off my mind.

I absolutely hate it when people in the Honkai fandom say that Welt is a terrible father and/or abandoned his family. The truth is, Welt loves his family so, so much, and still cares about them deeply even though he’s far away. There is clear and irrefutable evidence of this.

When you talk to Welt on the Express, you have the option to ask him about his friends. This is his response.

Here, he acknowledges that there are people waiting for him back home, and says that at some point prior to the game’s events, he asked Herta to send a signal to his home in hopes of being able to tell his family that he’s safe, and perhaps even tell them of his whereabouts (though that’s just an assumption on my end.)

When the Express is about to leave for the Xianzhou Loufu, if you talk to Welt, you can ask him what planet he would like to go to. This is his response.

Notice how his immediate answer to where he wants to go is home, as well as the word he uses to describe the fact that he cannot do so: sadly. He really could have said anywhere else, especially because he likely knew that probably wasn’t what the Trailblazer meant when they asked that question, but no. He answers honestly, and his honest answer is that he wants to go home.

This next section will have spoilers for the Penacony quest line, so proceed with caution.

For this next example, we’ll need some background information. What exactly is Ena’s Dream? Well, to explain in simple terms, Ena’s Dream is an escapist dream state meant to simulate what someone would view to be an ideal reality. The specifics of the dream varies from person to person, because each person has different desires, different ideals, different wants, different needs. But Ena’s Dream is meant to simulate what the individual TRULY desires, no matter how unrealistic or outlandish it may be.

In 2.3, if you talk to Welt, you can ask him what he saw in Ena’s Dream. This is his response.

In Ena’s dream, he goes home and reunites with his family. Do you understand what that means?

What Welt truly desires, more than anything else, is to find a way back home. What he saw in Ena’s Dream is blatant proof.

Another thing I’d like to draw attention to is how he says that realizing it was a dream was a “bitter truth.” The fact that he still had the Astral Express wasn’t enough for him to describe it as “bittersweet.” It was just bitter.

(No more Penacony spoilers from here on out)

Speaking of the Astral Express, I’d like to bring up something regarding not only Welt’s relationship with them, but the entirety of Star Rail’s world as a whole.

Something about Welt’s character that I really love is his ability to embrace the world around him and the people in it, DESPITE the fact that he also misses his home.

He’s engrossed himself deeply in the history and general ins and outs of Star Rail’s universe, to the point where whenever the Trailblazer finds something they don’t recognize, they ask Welt, and he can always provide a detailed answer.

Additionally, Welt has formed a strong familial relationship with the members of the Astral Express, and has a strong desire to keep them safe. For example, during the Jarilo-VI quest line, Welt expresses a clear desire to intervene when he sees the intensity of the situation Trailblazer, March, and Dan Heng are in, and when they return, Welt outright admits that there were more than a few times where he felt legitimate distress, making an off handed comment about having to “stop worrying so much.”

This is something that I feel like some people don’t understand; Welt can love this world and his home world simultaneously, and he does. Just because he isn’t constantly stressing out about going home and refusing to make connections out of fear of getting attached doesn’t mean that he isn’t thinking about his home or doesn’t want to find a way to go back.

I believe that the solution Welt wants is to have the best of both worlds, not to completely abandon one for the other. This is why his desired reality of finding a way home and him hoping that his journey with the Astral Express never ends can exist side by side. He truly does want both, and in the ideal ending to his story, he should be able to have both (at least in my opinion.)

I’ve never even played HI3, but I know of Welt’s lore and he is my favorite character in HSR, so I hate it when people mischaracterize him, ESPECIALLY when it comes to this. I hope that by writing this character analysis, this will help people understand him better, and show the people that think he doesn’t love his family that they are blatantly wrong. If you know someone who thinks that, please consider showing them this post.

(One last thing! If you read this entire analysis, then clearly you must like Star Rail. If you’re looking for more content, I’d like to make you aware that as of posting this, I have a Sampard and Astral Express chatfic, as well as a blog where I post Star Rail fanart (frostbitedoesfanart)! Please check them out if you have the time, and thanks for listening to me ramble <3)

[thewisecheerio]

Elden Ring, Rejection of Authority, and Transcendentalism

Elden Ring rejects authority as a final solution to the ills of the world, and then offers a message of transcendental hope that such lowly creatures as ourselves might be able to effect real change.

Elden Ring's world is locked into a seemingly endless cycle of violence. No one—not the humanoids, nor the many demigods and gods—has been able to come up with a solution that would establish an everlasting peace.

Count Ymir points out one of the roots of the cycle, which repeats in character after character. He tells us that the Golden Order's system as a whole is rooted in evil, unhinged from the start. Marika and the Fingers—the "mothers" of the system—birthed it malformed from the very beginning:

I fear that you have borne witness to the whole of it. The Conceits - the hypocrisy - of the world built upon the Erdtree. The follies of men. Their bitter suffering. Is there no hope for redemption? The answer, sadly, is clear. There never was any hope. They were each of them defective. Unhinged, from the start. Marika herself. And the fingers that guided her. And this is what troubles me. No matter our efforts if the roots are rotten, then we have little recourse.

Ymir also laments a similar situation with his son, in which he takes the blame for his son's malformation:

Forgive me, I failed to birth you whole, I failed to be your mother. For now, my dear, sleep soundly.

In both cases, we see him blaming the parent for the malformation of their children.

Ymir says separately that without a "true mother", how are we to flourish?

We all need a mother, do we not? A new mother, a true mother, who will not give birth to further malady.

So using these dialogue together, we can see that he believes that children can only flourish with good guidance from a mother figure, and that conversely children (and systems) birthed of a rotten mother will only continue to do harm when their creators set them up to be harmful from the start.

We see the same theme repeat with Metyr, daughter of the Greater Will. She is abandoned and left without its guidance, according to the Staff of the Great Beyond:

The Mother received signs from the Greater Will from the beyond of the microcosm. Despite being broken and abandoned, she kept waiting for another message to come.

We know that 1) the Fingers she birthed were rotten from the start (from the first block quote) and 2) Ymir's supposes that all of us are left floundering without a parent's guidance. We can then surmise that Metyr waiting on guidance from the Greater Will and never receiving it—while simultaneously refusing to change course and seek guidance within herself or another source—led to this malformation of her children. She kept doing the same thing she'd been doing since last hearing from the Greater Will, and that refusal to change course in the absence of guidance was her downfall.

We see this same cycle of abandonment and refusal to change course repeat with Messmer. An NPC spirit's dialogue begs Marika to come collect her abandoned child, presumably Messmer, to put an end to the violence he is doing—as if his violence might be ended by intervention from an authority he respects. But originally set on his genocidal course by his mother (see his armor set clothing tags), Messmer refuses to change course even after being abandoned, as he tells us:

My purpose standeth unchanged

and then proceeds to beat the ever-loving daylight out of us so that he can go back to spearing Hornsent. It's important to ask, "Why? Why must your purpose stand unchanged?" After all, he could simply end the genocide himself, disbanding the military forces that so respect him. But it's his refusal to do anything but act on the last command he received from his preferred authority figure—his mother—that ensures that his cycle of violence will continue.

So if all of the authority figures are truly rotten in Elden Ring, and those who rely on them end up making grave and violent mistakes, where then are we to turn?

The Mending Rune of Perfect Order might give us a clue:

A rune of transcendental ideology which will attempt to perfect the Golden Order. The current imperfection of the Golden Order, or instability of ideology, can be blamed upon the fickleness of the gods no better than men. That is the fly in the ointment.

The Rune reminds us not to worship gods—or any authority figures—for they are just as fallible as the men who blindly follow them. It explicitly warns us against relying solely on guidance from authority to decide on what we think the right course is.

And so if we cannot rely on authority, where then do we turn?

I think the gameplay gives us two answers. After all, the only ones who can make actual change within the game world are 1) ourselves, and 2) our community, should we choose to summon other players for help. So instead of worshipping any authority figure, hoping that they will simply tell us what to do, we are forced to make decisions with our own and our community's input alone.

Elden Ring challenges you to think critically about what you and your community think is truly right and effective in any given situation. In this way, Elden Ring gives us a thoroughly transcendental message of hope, that such lowly creatures as ourselves and our community might remake the world to be better.

[heavencanbeaprisontoo]

Living with Arthur Headcanons

Warnings: Mildly suggestive, references to PTSD, period-typical toxic masculinity. Angst and Fluff ahead.

Relationship Hcs

Arthur is the sort of man that wants to appear to the world as strong and confident, because that benefits him a lot in his line of work. The men that answer to him fear him. As they should. Arthur Shelby is not a man to be messed with or teased without great caution. However, Arthur is simultaneously very sensitive and gentle. He reminisces about the past and longs for a kind future for himself. Arthur is also a man with wounds and scars he can’t quite close. So, it goes without saying that loving Arthur means to love two men at once. 

The Arthur who comes home to you on “a bad day,” is a man who melts in your arms. He comes through your door some days and just holds you. He can worry you a lot on days like those. Where he cries and can’t stop. Arthur just needs you so badly and he despises how useless it leaves him. All you can do is undress him and draw a bath for him. Depending on his state, you’ll join him and help him wash before helping him off to bed. 

He never means to rely on you like this. Arthur hates how his mind and it's jagged edges dig into you. You have shared many talks at night about "where his head is at." Tommy often comes up. And it is often Tommy that causes fights between you two. Arthur wants to be a family man and move to the country, but he won't. Not so long as Tommy needs him. And Tommy always needs him. But he put him in positions where he could be sent to prison for life, or where Arthur could be killed. The worst fights end with Arthur storming out of the house and coming back to you with bloody knuckles and a night where, "Nothing much," happened.

When you fight, Arthur is the one who apologizes first. Usually with flowers or a box of sweets. He likes to explain the entire process he went through to get the peace offering to buy himself time before saying, "I was wrong for that, yeah," or "I don't always do right, but I want to. I do."

Arthur wants to keep you clean from all the things he does for the family. He doesn't know what he would do if you were hurt.

Domestic Hcs

Arthur is completely helpless in the kitchen. He was totally content buying a meal or eating butter on toast. Coming home to you cooking was a welcome surprise. His own mother didn’t try to cook. Even if the meal you make is simple, or even burnt, Arthur will praise it like it’s the greatest thing anyone’s ever made ever. If you were to have guests over and they insulted you, Arthur would physically remove them from the house unless they were family.

You knew that Arthur’s trust for you was absolute when he asked you to help him shave. The first time you put the straight razor to his throat, you were terribly nervous. His eyes were closed, and his body relaxed. You carried on with his shave and from then on he only went to you for that task. It became a part of your routine, and a way to reinforce his trust in you. 

There are things that happen in your home that Arthur will never confess to. His pride won’t let him. One of these things is that he paints your nails for you. Neither of you can recall who suggested it. Arthur’s hands are so steady and he gets to focused, he paints your nails far better than you can. In a way, you think it might be his way of repaying you for his clean shaves. 

Arthur likes to watch you get dressed in the mornings, which isn’t always sexual for him… but it usually is. A part of his attraction comes from knowing that only he gets to see you this way. No makeup, messy hair, groaning and clumsy as you try to get ready for the day. There’s something hypnotizing about watching you do your morning routine. How you stretch from the bed and bring your nightgown over your head. The way your hair tumbles over your shoulders, the messiness of it. He would love to record the way you say, “G’morning love,” with that rasp to your voice that sleep gives it. It is a common thing with Arthur to pull you back to bed when you say that. 

He likes to make moments at home last. They make him feel at peace. They make him feel clean. Though he sometimes worries that all he's done is smear the blood from his hands to your pure soul.

[brainrotbabe24]

Okay HELLOOO so i wanna request Thorins company with a reader who is very feminine and pretty and stuff, but simultaneously very bossy, assertive, dominant and likes telling people what to do and stuff?? If that makes sense lol

Have a good day/night!!!

HI!! This was such a fun one to write! I'm not sure if it answers the questions correctly, but I just got lost in the sauce with this one and went crazy, lol 💖😂

Balin: Balin admires your assertiveness. He finds it very fitting for you to be in command with your no-bullshit, bossy attitude. Balin would regularly turn to you for support, and he always trusted your honest opinions. He saw you as his advisor when he advises Thorin. Plus, your appearance only adds to your ability to persuade others…who could say no to those beautiful eyes. To him, you are a double threat—both in personality and looks—who can command respect and loyalty from anyone.

Dwalin: Dwalin is in love. The moment you started leading the group and demanding respect, he was captivated. Not to mention, your looks took his breath away. He loves a dominant, commanding presence who can lead a group, demand attention, and know their way around a weapon. *wink wink* Dwalin will always have your back, just as you have his. To him, you are an incredibly capable person.

Óin: Oin is glad you can handle yourself. The second you joined the group, he feared you might need constant protection, but you quickly proved him wrong. You instantly became an influential part of the group, guiding Thorin's decisions, earning the trust and respect of the group, and even outshining some of the most seasoned warriors. Your presence reassured Óin that you were vital to their mission.

Glóin: Link Oin, Gloin had doubts but was quickly shut up when he saw you fight. Your skills…your knowledge… your command. You dominated the battlefield, earning his respect. Even with blood splattered all over you, you were still gorgeous. Since then, Glóin has been ready to drop everything and listen to you, knowing you are someone worth following.

Bifur: Bifur is inspired by your assertive personality. You don't address the group broadly; instead, you call out each person, demand perfection, and engage in personal, intimate conversations. You look at each one of them as their own person. He likes that you take charge while ensuring everyone is seen and valued. You inspire him and make his heart soar whenever you call out his name with a wink.

Bofur: Bofur is lost in your beauty. He can barely focus on what you say when his mind drifts to how soft your lips look when bossing around the group. How your brow furrows when something isn't up to your standards. How you let your guard down just a little when someone compliments you. His mouth goes dry, and his knees are weak whenever he's near you, lost in admiration. Sadly, your commands are lost to him.

Bombur: Bombur is scared of you. You are one wickley, intimidating person. Your commanding presence and fiery attitude make him cautious not to cross your path. However, he can't help but steal glances, admiring how the sunlight dances on your skin.  Although he is scared, he starts to think he might have misunderstood you. Maybe there is more to you than a bossy attitude—he might even start looking up to you. 

Ori: Ori finds your personality and appearance to be a sick joke. How could someone some sweet, so tender, so feminine bark such harsh orders? He is caught between feeling like he must listen to you and listening to his brother, Dori, who seems to contradict everything you say. Ori is lost but knows that all he wants is to follow you, even if it means going against his brother's wishes.

Dori: Dori is confused and conflicted about you. He feels like he should dislike you and how you boss people around, especially his brothers. But at the same time, he can't help but admire you and how you can control situations, get his brothers to listen, and cooperate. It's a love-hate relationship for Dori, as he both resents and respects your ability to lead.

Nori: Nori grumbles whenever he hears your commanding voice directing the company. He hates being told what to do. He hates how your face will twist into a smirk when he jokes with you, and you already have a comeback set up.  He hates your soft smile, and he hates that he loves hearing you say his name. But he especially hates it when he finds himself obeying your commands without hesitation. Hate is a strong word for Nori…he just hates how you make him feel. Yet he could never fully hate you—not when you look like a perfect creation of Aulë, as beautiful as Yavanna herself.

Thorin: It's complicated. Thorin constantly feels like he is competing with you, as if you're planning to undermine him at any moment. He glares, snarls, and pushes past you, rejecting your demands. Yet, there is one thing he is a complete bumbling idiot about—your laugh. The way you laugh is dangerous. It's infectious, bold, and handsome, and it takes his breath away. Despite all the tension and jealousy, when you laugh, Thorin feels safe, and all his competitive instincts vanish.

Fíli: "Yes, mommy!" Fili is utterly devoted to you. Your commanding orders make his heart race, and your beauty leaves him blushing. He often finds himself staring, and when your eyes lock, he waits eagerly for your sass —he craves it. Fili would do anything for you. He would get on his knees for you, worship you, even die for you.

Kíli: Kili can be a bit of a brat when it comes to your authority. He laughs at the way you hold yourself, demanding respect and directing the group to do things. Pfft. He practically hates it, wanting to prove that he's your equal. But when you snap back at him and grab his shirt, he finds himself caving. "I'm not listening to you," he might say, but the moment you respond with, "I'll make you listen, Kíli," he's putty in your hands.

Bilbo: Biblo is a little ass. The first time he met you, he thought you were a perfect copy of Thorin. Both of you are beautiful, alluring yet domineering and controlling. He rolls his eyes at your bossy attitude. But over time, Bilbo starts to realize how utterly wrong he is. He sees you as protective, loving, and a material figure for the group. His initial distaste and sass fades, and he soon comes to see you as his rock. He needs that when all seems to go to hell during the journey. 

Gandalf: Gandalf trusts you completely. He knows that with you around, the group is in good hands, which is why he leaves so much in the movies. Your skills and wit speak for themselves. You're quick to take charge in high-intensity situations, yet your feminine side allows for more compassionate, loving care. Gandalf wouldn't have come to you for help on this important quest unless he trusted you to keep the dwarves in line.

[muxshwriting]

talk

Anakin Skywalker x reader (Orpheus and Eurydice retelling)

summary: the greatest love story ever told, that's simultaneously the most tragic || summary: angst, main character death, a lot of death || word count: 1773 || masterlist

There have been many great love stories throughout the centuries, but none were more famous than the tragic tale of Anakin Skywalker and his wife, Y/N. And it begins with her death.

The urge began with a voice pounding at the back of his mind from the moment he had found your body. With every second it grew louder and louder until it was sounding off like a cannon in his brain.

"I'm going to the underworld."

It was a short and direct statement.

Obi-Wan's face paled. "You can't be serious Anakin! That's reckless and dangerous. You're writing your own death warrant."

"I'm rewriting hers." He argued.

"This is insanity!" Obi-Wan cried.

Anakin turned away. "Don't try and stop me. I'm going either way."

His mind was set, there was no change Obi-Wan would be able to find. He walked for days and nights, battling against those who tried to stop him on his journey. Nothing would stop him from getting to you.

The darkness didn’t bother Anakin as he walked, his eyes were set on a goal far ahead. All he could think was that you were alone and probably scared. He needed to get to you. No one had made this journey before, it had been fabled but never done. His journey seemed never ending but Anakin persevered, kept his head down, his plan secret.

On the nights when all hope seemed lost, when the thoughts echoed through his head and told him he couldn’t save you, he push on. It was your voice that rang through his head the mornings after those thoughts. It was a simple whisper, a murmur that you were walking with him and waiting for him on the other side, that you loved him and always would.

After a forever of walking, Anakin was standing outside the gates to the underworld. His journey here had been challenging but to travel through the underworld would be nigh on impossible.

His eyes were trained to the ground as he ignored the screams of damned souls and the cries of condemned asking for salvation. Every step meant he was closer to you, every step was a step closer to your freedom. His hood stayed drawn over his head and his robe was wrapped tightly around him. His lightsaber would be useless here and so he didn’t even bother having it easy to hand. Drawing a weapon in Hades’ domain wouldn’t be wise, anyone could tell you that.

The halls of the Underworld were enormous, rising above his head to the heavens with pits of fire. Hades sat upon his throne, watching the young Jedi enter his halls and slowly approach.

"Anakin Skywalker." He sneered slightly.

Anakin found the courage to meet the King’s eyes. He noticed the slight redness to them no one had discussed before. Beside him sat his wife, Persephone, on a throne of her own, looking like she owned the Underworld. Or course, she did but no one would say that in front of Hades. Even if they did, he would probably agree before ending their life.

"What brings the Chosen One to my domain?" Hades asked but Anakin knew better than to answer. "The Hero with No Fear has come to beg me for a soul, no?"

Persephone reached over and placed a gentle hand on her husband’s arm. He met her eyes and instantly softened.

"My wife has taken a liking to you boy. Perhaps you will entertain me for a while."

Anakin swallowed his fear and stood a little straighter, "I come here seeking my love, she was taken too soon, as many are. But she deserved a better life than what she was given. And I didn’t care if they called me crazy, if there was a chance I could get her that life, I was going to try." He took the chance to read their expressions for a moment. Persephone looked proud while Hades seemed perplexed. He continued, "When she’s with me, my world is complete, because it is her. I dread to think the kind of person I would be if she was not beside me and I fear for my future without her alive. My heart will darken and grow evil without her light to ward to away the shadows."

"Go on…"

"I walked here, my head to the ground, my name unspoken. I walked through the Underworld for the chance to see my wife and hold her in my arms once more. Perhaps she has passed on, choosing a greater life than what I could provide. But even if I came her in vain and I never leave again, I know I tried. I did not sit idly and ponder what might have been, I tried even if I fail. I have nothing to lose because she was everything and I lost her."

Hades was silent as two guards entered the hall and began to drag Anakin away. He let himself be taken, refusing to look away from the rulers face. He watched as Hades put his head in his hand. Persephone comforted him, reaching a hand for his face and her other for his. Then the doors slammed shut and Anakin was left with his thoughts once more.

He lost count of the number of steps he was dragged down, the people he passed. But then there was a cage surrounded by a dozen others all empty except one. A cage with you inside.

His strength returned and he had freed himself in an instant running to you with a shout of your name. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?"

You couldn’t believe your eyes. Anakin, your Anakin was standing in front of you in the Underworld. He had journeyed to the Underworld for you.

"Yes! I’m alright, what are you doing here?"

"Bringing you home."

"Anakin-"

The cage between you two barely mattered as you pressed your lips to his between the bars. You hand intertwined with one another, holding on as tightly as you could. You had lost each other once, you would not lose each other again so easily.

"I love you." You confess. You’d said it to him many time before but never with such reverence as you did now. "I love you Anakin Skywalker."

Anakin’s eyes shined with tears, "It’s a long journey back, dangerous and cold."

"I’ll walk with you every step of the way." You promised. "You’ll never be alone."

Behind Anakin, Hades had arrived, his Queen only a few steps behind. Tentatively he turned to them, his hands still gripping yours. "Can we leave?"

In truth, Hades had no answer. He had come down the deepest dungeons to talk with you and Anakin and he had done so without an answer.

If he said no, he was just as heartless as the tales say he is. He would have no compassion for a man and his wife and the love they shared. He would be a hypocrite and his own wife would never quite forgive him. If he said yes, he would be doing something never done before. He had no moral code, no rules for the Underworld. He would be governing a lawless realm where people could come and go as they pleased.

He was damned either way.

The reality was this: Hades would let them go under the conditions he would set. Yes, he would be a forgiving and understanding King who knew the perfect punishment for any who demanded anything of him. Anakin Skywalker, the leader would walk ahead of his wife all the way out of the Underworld. And if he looked back to check she was following, she would be dragged back down into the depths.

She is out of sight, he is out of his mind. Anakin would foolishly agree, doing anything to have her back, not realising what he’s truly agreed to.

Since agreeing to Hades’ terms, you and Anakin hadn’t looked away from each other.

"Are you ready?" He asked you.

Silently, you nod. Anakin takes a steadying breath, his hands brushed against yours as you held one to your chest, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. He squeezed his eyes shut and span on his heels, beginning the long walk without you by his side.

The world went silent as your hand slipped from his and he felt utterly alone. He took the first step, trusting you would be right behind him.

As he walked, his footsteps echoed through the Underworld. But what tore his heart into pieces was the lack of your footsteps echoing behind him. He resisted the urge every single day to glance back at you. He prayed this was a part of Hades’ sick terms, that he would be unable to tell if you were behind him until you were out. A few days into the journey, he had started talking to you. It began as a quiet beg that you were still there, a promise he believed, a proclamation of his love. It had escalated when he received no response.

Behind him, you were never more than three steps behind. You heard every word that he said, unable to respond, unable to reach out. More often than not, you would be walking with tears streaming down your face, praying that Anakin would stay strong enough to get you both out.

You both ignored the pain in your feet and in your hearts as the end of the Underworld grew closer. When one morning, you felt the sun on your face for the first time in weeks as the exit was just ahead of you. Anakin’s pace remained steady but his steps seemed more sure, a quiet optimism. You let yourself smile, you were getting out.

The shuddering breath Anakin made as he stepped over the threshold made you almost weep with delight. But then he turns and your heart sinks to the pit of your stomach. You glance to the floor and your worst fears are confirmed.

"Y/N." He breathes your name in a way that makes his love clear as day.

"Anakin…" Your face has fallen as you look at him with nothing but despair.

You see him glance down at where you’re standing, just inside the threshold of the Underworld. He had turns too early. You hadn’t had time to get out. He hadn’t thought… he just needed to see you after so long.

Through your tears, you muster up a smile for him, "I love you."

You feel your soul being wrenched backwards as you tumble backwards, down, down, down back to your cage in Hades’ town. It was all for nothing.

[concreteburialplot]

Draped Across

pairing: noah x fem!reader x nicholas

masterlist: here | crossposted: ao3 | word count: 2.8k

warnings: established thruple, dom nick. switch noah, sub brat reader, spanking, degrading?, brat taming, cuckolding??, noah being nick's little helper, nick is so angry he doesn't speak?, piv (unprotected). creampie, porn without plot?, oral (f recieving), contactless orgasm? kinda?, cute tooth-rotting aftercare/sub space, the boys love cringey petnames here SORRY in advance, noah is obedient for once in his fucking life, 18+ MDNI

summary: you act up and end up draped over noah's lap while nick uses you :)

a/n; i rarely do porn w/o plot or really anything this short, but i just needed to get this out. pls enjoy 💗 [as with anything i write involving nick this got really grossly soft at the end I'M SORRY]

Your sassy mouth and disobedient behavior had landed you draped across Noah’s lap with your shorts and panties drawn down around your thighs.

His large hand lands a smack hard on the meat of your ass sending a sizzling jolt of pain up your spine causing you to buck up a bit. His spanks always hurt the worst with the size of his hand.

Nicholas had grown silent from his seething, knowing that if he said anything it would be out of line, so he let Noah take over for him.

“Now, you’ve really upset him, flower.” Noah uses his favorite nickname for you in a sweet but patronizing tone.

Noah roughly shoves your shorts further down your legs until Nick all but rips them off your body. His hand lands another smack on your ass followed by a hard grip that helps to pull your cheeks apart. His slender fingers slither between your legs, parting your lips.

Faster than you can process, Nick uses his boot to spread your feet apart, baring you open for him completely.

Noah’s fingertips linger by your near dripping entrance, “Oh what’s wrong did that make you wetter? Having your pretty pussy on display for him?”

You whine and squirm in his lap, knowing that his words were embarrassingly true.

Another hard smack causes you to yelp, “I asked you a question. Now answer me,” His fingertips circling your entrance, putting the slightest pressure to tease. “Are you such a little slut that you get off on being on display for us?”

“Grrh, yes.” You admit a small defeat and buck your hips up towards his fingers. “Yes, I like being on display for you.”

Noah’s middle and ring fingers dip inside you, just the tips though, gently scissoring you open. Your eyes widen knowing exactly what that meant.

The sharp sound of zipper rings from behind you, filling the room.

Noah fingertips spread your pussy open as much as it would allow. You hear Nicholas spit, followed the squelching of his hand around his cock.

Fear and anticipation pools in your tummy for the delicious burn his cock would bring.

His large, swollen tip slides between your folds and you shudder at his size. Butterflies unleash in your belly when he grazes your buzzing clit.

You wiggle around Noah’s lap both in excitement and terror, earning you another hard smack with his free hand. “Stay fucking still.” He demands, then harshly grasping your hip to stabilize you. “Be good and take it.”

A loud gasp leaves your mouth when you feel Nick press into you, stretching you around his cock. You hiss at the sting of it. He takes his time just getting into you but not much after, using his full force to dive straight into you. A sharp cry leaves your mouth when his tip lands hard into the deepest part of you. The direct impact into your core shoots pain up through your stomach; your eyes screw closed and suck in a harsh breath through your teeth.

Your whole body stills when you feel a pair of hands that aren’t Noah’s snake around your hips. The feeling of it simultaneously soothes and frightens you. Nick’s thumbs rub circles into the divots of your lower back. He’s angry with you, you know. But the small gesture grounds you a bit.

He pulls from you almost completely before landing hard into you again and starts building momentum rutting in and out of you. The pain of the stretch slowly melts away the more you adjust to him and you’re able to savor in him filling you entirely. It’s hard to even clench around his girth.

“Fuck.” You mutter out and his hands curl into your hips sternly, holding you firmly in place as he nearly splits you in half.

Noah gently tucks a chunk of hair behind your ear, “You take him so well.”

Rosy pink coats your cheeks at his compliment.

Noah’s length had been poking at your tummy the whole time you’d been on his lap but now he very subtly readjusts beneath you to let his own cock free. He lets it rest in the dip of your waist, just enjoying the movement of your entire body being fucked in his lap.

His fingers find their way back between your legs, his index and middle parting around Nicholas, just feeling where he enters you. You hear a groan rumble in Noah’s chest and feel his member throb and bounce against your exposed skin. He loves feeling him fucking you, getting some sort of twisted pleasure in being deprived of both of you.

“Now, say you’re sorry for being a disobedient little brat.” Noah commands.

You whine and wriggle in his lap keeping your mouth shut. As with most times, you wanted to see how far you could push their buttons.

“I said, say you’re sorry.” Another hard smack lands on your ass from Noah, this one harder than before. “Now you’re gonna have to count.”

You knew better than to not comply to that demand.

“One.”

“We’re still not hearing the words I asked.”

Another smack.

“Two.”

The burn of it lets you know that your ass is definitely bright red by now – which explains Nick’s acceleration, he loves seeing marks on you.

Two more hard spanks – Noah’s obviously getting frustrated with you.

“Three – ah – four.” You hiss.

A hand firmly and swiftly wraps your hair around his fist – with the veraciousness of it you know it’s Nicholas. While the gesture is painful and jarring, it releases a flurry of butterflies in your core. Your back arches up to Nick as much as it can.

“Don’t make him ask.” Noah warns with another smack.

You could defy Noah all day, easy, but Nicholas makes you weaker and breaks you down faster.

“Ah – fuck.” You suck in a breath. “Fuck, fine, I’m sorry!”

Noah glances up at Nick verifying if he’s satisfied with your answer although he already knows the response.

“Not good enough. Try again.” Noah’s hand grasps your hip to readjust you into a firmer position. “And you missed one, start over.” Followed by a new first spank.

“Fuck.” You mutter, the sting on your ass beginning to cross your pain threshold – but not quite enough yet. “One.”

Another, this one prickling tears in your eyes.

“Fuck!” You yelp. “Two.”

“I said, try again.”

Another, this one being the hardest and most painful one yet, definitely leaving a hand-shaped bruise.

“Ah! Three! Fuck!” You cry. “I’m sorry!”

Noah’s sizable hand gently rubs over the marks forming across your cheeks. “For what babydoll?” He pries.

“For being disobedient!” Tears welling in your eyes.

You feel his hand lift and hover over you again. “Don’t make me ask again.”

“Gah – fuck, fine – I’m sorry for being a disobedient little brat!” You repeat back the full statement with your voice cracking.

“Good girl.” He hums. The praise makes your heart swell. He again tucks your hair behind your ear, noticing the tears streaming down your face. “Oh, what’s wrong darling? Can’t handle the punishment for your behavior?”

His mean words worsen the buzzing in your clit and the ceased spanking lets you focus on Nick’s fat cock destroying you.

“Mmm.” You moan involuntarily.

“Oh,” Noah smirks, his fingers finding where Nick meets you again. “Or is it his big fucking cock spreading you open that’s making you cry?”

“Mhm.” You hum, reveling in the burn of it.

“Here let me help.” His fingers wrapping around the base of Nick’s cock and even with the added size of Noah’s fist, Nick is still able to reach into your deepest point. Noah’s cock bouncing against your waist tells you that he likes that fact as much as you do.

Nick seems to love the extra stimulation too, his thrusts getting viciously fast, fucking you dizzy.

“I know, it’s so much, isn’t it?” He mutters, seemingly entranced with the size as well.

“Uh huh.” You pathetically spit out, your body just a vessel for their pleasure.

Noah pushes your hair to the other side of your neck with his free hand. “Tell me baby, who’s little slut are you?” He asks. “Who do you belong to?”

“F-fuck.” You’re so turned on and so wet that you feel like the slightest pressure on your clit could unravel you. “You.”

His fingers unwrap from Nick and glide down through your folds, halting just before your bud.

“Wrong.”

Your eyes widen realizing your mistake when the fingers around your hips dig into your hipbone painfully.

“Fuck – His.”

“Oh baby, c’mon, you know better than that. Who owns your pretty pussy hm? Who do you belong to?”

“Nick!”

“Good girl.” He praises, his fingertips now grazing your clit. “Again. Louder.”

“Nick.” You moan out louder than before, this time coming from your chest, between heaving breaths.

“Good girl.” He repeats with his fingers beginning tight circles into your swollen nub. “Louder. Again.”

A tight knot begins to form in your tummy, the feeling of being just a plaything to them sets your skin ablaze. “Nick!”

“Louder, c’mon you can be louder than that. You know he loves it when you scream.”

“Fuck! - Nick! Nick!”

Noah’s fingers speed up alongside of Nick’s thrusts. His momentum getting quick and sloppy, clearly just as close as you.

“Nick. Nick. Nick.” You mindlessly repeat with your head so fuzzy and full of him that he’s all you could think of.

“That’s it baby, just like that.” Noah spits down on his own member, still just getting stimulation from your fucked body moving against him. “He’s close, you just gotta wait, okay? Can you do that?”

You nod, still just repeating his name like a prayer, the brink of your orgasm clearing your mind of anything else.

Finally, Nick groans deeply and lands hard in you with his cock twitching, painting your walls white and filling you completely.

“Okay baby, let go for us, will you?” Noah doesn’t even finish his statement before you’re blinded by your own orgasm.

Screams and curses of Nick’s name rip from your throat as euphoria washes over you, your skin buzzing as Nick continues to fuck you through his climax.

Whiny, desperate moans tumble from Noah’s lips as you feel his warm cum splay all over your back, completely hands free.

You fall limp across Noah’s lap, your breathing in sync with each other. While Noah was in control this session, it’s always Nicholas behind the wheel.

He belongs to him as much as you do.

There’s a bit of an exchange between them you can’t quite make out since you’re still coming down from your high but all you feel is them moving you around like a ragdoll. Suddenly you realize you’re now draped across Nick’s lap.

“Knees.” He instructs Noah, the first thing he’d said this whole time.

Noah obeys, landing on his knees behind your dripping core.

“Clean her up.”

Your eyes widen at his words and almost instantly his tongue brushes through your folds and dips into your entrance.

“Good boy.”

Noah hums happily against you at the praise.

Nick’s fingers tracing through your hair tenderly. “You did so good angel. Did you learn your lesson?”

“Mhm.”  

You’re torn between humming and melting into his touch or releasing the moan building in your tummy. Noah seemingly enjoys his task, eating you like he’s been starving for a lifetime, practically sucking Nick’s cum right out of you.

“I know he hurt you quite a bit didn’t he bunny?” He asks quietly, just loud enough for you to hear. His voice is soft and gentle, much different than how he was just talking to Noah or anything he would’ve said if he had spoken while he was inside of you.

You begin to nod but hiss in pain when Noah’s tongue grazes the base of your entrance where Nick stretched you out the most. Noah pauses for a second before pressing his lips to the sensitive area.

“Maybe we should go wash up huh? Get you guys in a nice warm bath.” Nick’s hand finds your cheek to support your head. “Does that sound good?”

“Mhm.” You hum tiredly and nuzzle into his palm.

“Okay. When he’s done, we’ll get you both nice and clean. Maybe put an ice pack on your pretty, red ass?”

“Please.”

“You both did so good for me. Noah did a good job taking control didn’t he?” Nick asks.

“Mhm.” You nod with a lazy smile, barely able to keep your eyes open as the chemical rush begins to crash and take its toll on you.

Once Noah finishes cleaning you up, Nick carries you over to a large corner bathtub. Noah takes the initiative to start filling the tub at a good temperature. He even takes a scoop of bath salts with dried rose petals and spreads them across the filling tub to help with the pain.

“You want some bubbles bunny?” Nick asks Noah sweetly. The nickname directed at him this time makes his cheeks turn bubblegum pink. “Or maybe a bath bomb?”

He nods quickly at the bath bomb suggestion, very clearly slipping into a deep sub space of his own.

Nicholas gently places you in the tub while Noah goes to a container filled with bath supplies. He returns with a blue spaceship cupped in both hands, the edges of it bubble and fizz in his palms since his hands were still wet from testing the water.

“Good choice.” Nick beams at him and gestures to the tub. “C’mon, don’t let it fizz all in your hands.” He teases.

Noah excitedly gets in the tub but slow enough to not disturb you. Nick nods when Noah goes to ask if he’s allowed to set it down yet.

The spaceship sizzles in the warm water and spins slowly in the waves. Dark blue, purple, pink, and even a bit of shimmery gold start to fizzle out from the ship soon staining the water a dark galaxy.

Nick sits at the edge of the tub with just his legs in the water with you nestled between them. While soaking, he carefully washes and conditions your hair. His fingers skillfully comb through your locks, gently breaking up any knots. Once he’s washed out all the soap he moves to your scalp, softly massaging it as you rest your head on his thigh. You hum in contentment.

Once he’s made sure you’re satisfied, he moves on to Noah, taking his long hair between his hands just as he did with yours.

Your eyelids are heavy as you watch Noah pick three rubber duckies – one pink, one yellow, one blue – from the edge of the tub and precariously place them into the water. His eyes are soft and mesmerized as he watches them spin alongside the drifting bath bomb remnants. The twirling colors and duckies lull him into a comforting, hyper-fixated trance. Noah hums against Nick’s thigh, his eyes matching yours in their sleepiness.

The space between you three is quiet but peaceful, comfortable, and full of love.

Nicholas unplugs the tub, and the water begins to drain slowly. If you had anymore fight left in you, you’d push to stay in longer but all you want to do is get nuzzled between your boys in bed.

He brings you both plush towels and helps you dry off. Before you’re able to get dressed, you’re once again across Nick’s lap off the edge of the bed, but this time for a much different reason. He squeezes out some healing gel-cream into the palm of his inked hand and carefully spreads it across your bruised cheeks. The coolness of the cream helps ease and numb the pain. It brings you comfort knowing that while both of them can be quite mean in the moment, they will always be soft with you like this afterwards.

“Does that feel better?” He asks and you nod. “Good.” He smiles softly. “I picked out some PJs for you on the dresser if you wanna bring them over?”

You carefully peel yourself from his lap and bring over the silk PJs. He holds open the shorts for you to step into and helps slip the top over your head. His hands cup your cheeks and tilts your face up to him. “I love you.”

His eyes lean more grey in the dim light of your bedroom. You beam sweetly up at him and nuzzle into his palm. “Love you more.”

Abruptly, Noah pulls himself on his knees to the edge of the bed and throws his lanky arms around both of your necks. “Love you most!”

You giggle at Noah’s silliness and how the squeeze squished you into Nick’s chest. You’d stay squished there forever by them if you could.

Shortly after, you three get cozy in bed – you curled around knocked-out Noah and Nick curled around you. Being smushed between their bodies means that the smell of their mixed colognes cocoons you in your favorite scent. With a deep inhale, you take in the moment. You were exactly where you belong.

No one could ever take away how perfectly you three fit together.

tag list; @darksigns-exe @deathblacksmoke @ladyveronikawrites @blackveilomens @somebodyels3 @shilohrosechicken @th4t-em0-k1d @midnight-eternals @hedonists

a/n; thank you for reading if you did! smut isn’t really my strong suit so i apologize if it wasn't that good 😬 and IM SORRY IT WAS MUSHY AT THE END OKAY………

Thank you for any support you guys ever give me on any of my works, it truly means the world to me that you guys enjoy my words and lil plots.

let me know if you liked it! i love hearing your thoughts

[fluentmoviequoter]

Save Your Life

Requested Here!

(Barely There) Pairing: Dominique Luca x fem!reader

Summary: The most terrifying part of Luca's life is also the best: being a single father. His daughter is in danger, and he relies on his team to save her.

Warnings: threats to children, angst to fluff, technically a reader insert but only mentioned in two scenes and has little to do with the story

Word Count: 1.5k+ words

A/N: I don't think I like this. The next one will be better! Hopefully this isn't completely unreadable and someone can enjoy it😭

Masterlist Directory | Luca Masterlist | Request Info\Fandom List

“Where’s Lu?” you inquire as you enter the locker room, surprised to see Luca still at the station.

“With a sitter,” Luca answers, smiling. “I couldn’t leave you on the night shift without me.”

“Deac did,” Hondo laments.

“Only because Luca agreed to stay,” Street defends. “Don’t be jealous they have people who love them.”

“One more chance, Street,” Hondo warns jokingly. “Seriously, Luca, if you want to head out, man, go ahead. It’s going to be a slow night, and Lu is probably better company than us.”

“I’d rather be with Lu than here,” you agree.

“She’s started asking her teachers to call her Lu because of you guys,” Luca says with a chuckle. When you laugh, he points at you to add, “Mostly you!”

“It’s not my fault she liked Narnia when I watched it with her!”

“But you pointed out that her last name is Luca, so she could use it too!”

You shrug, unwilling to admit that you aided in creating the nickname but unable to blame anyone else. Luca’s phone begins ringing, and you watch him furrow his brows at the caller ID before he answers.

“Renee, hey,” he greets. “Is everything okay?”

Street and Hondo stop when Luca inhales, and you stand from the bench as he listens intently to whoever is on the other end of the line.

“Lu, Lu, calm down,” Luca says, his voice even despite the apparent fear in his expression. “Where are they now?”

Hondo taps Luca’s shoulder, and Dom shakes his head. The current situation is bad, but you're sure it will only get worse.

“Wait, say that again?” Luca requests as he drops his hand away from his ear and changes the call to be on speaker.

“He said something about patrols and pushed her out of the door!” Luca’s daughter, lovingly nicknamed Lu, whispers.

You nod and gently squeeze Luca’s bicep before you rush out of the locker room and toward the situation room. He ran a background check on his babysitter, so you already have her name. You can now begin looking into any associates she might have and what ‘patrols’ have to do with someone forcing her out of Luca’s house. It doesn't take much digging to decide Lu must have misheard 'paroles.'

As you look through her DMV information, Hondo and Street move closer to Luca as his daughter expresses her fear that the man will return.

“Dad,” Lu begins.

Glass shatters in the background, and Luca’s heart feels like it skips a beat. Being a father is simultaneously the best part of his life and the most fear-inducing. Every day since she was born, he’s been worried about what would happen to her. In his bad moments, he is terrified that someone will hurt her because of his job or that he’ll be killed and she’ll lose him. Now, his worst nightmare seems to be coming to reality.

“Lu?” Luca asks softly.

“There she-“ someone else murmurs before the call ends and Luca’s phone beeps.

He resists the urge to throw the device, shifting his focus to his daughter and the danger. He planned to spend a slow shift at HQ, try again to work up the courage to invite you over for dinner, and then be home to make Lu breakfast. His night has changed, but he doesn’t have to do it alone.

“We’re going to find her, Luca,” Hondo promises. “Let’s roll.”

“No,” Luca replies. “We need more information. She may not even be at the house now and we can’t risk wasting any time.”

Street nods and leads Luca and Hondo to the situation room, where you’re leaning over a keyboard as Hicks and Rocker converse quietly behind you.

“We’ve got you covered,” Rocker tells Luca, looking up when he sees them enter. “Go save your little girl.”

Luca dips his chin in thanks, then walks to your side to ask, “Find anything?”

“Renee’s baby daddy,” you answer, clicking on another picture. “Recognize him, Luca? You arrested him for drug trafficking in ‘18. He’s been out for a while, but…”

“His brother didn’t get paroled,” Luca finishes. “Darryl Jones... Why take Renee out of the house?”

“Let’s ask where before we wonder why,” Hondo redirects. “Where would Jones go?”

“His mother has a house in Anaheim that she rents out,” Street says, reading the file on the screen. “It’s occupied by renters, but if he’s desperate.”

“Guys,” you call. When their eyes are on you, you ask, “What about the baby?”

Luca’s heart hammers in his ears as he rides in the back of Black Betty. His mind races with thoughts of his daughter, Lu. He remembers her birth, her first steps, the moment that he held her for the first time as a single father. As long as he focuses on that, he won’t be plagued by images of the danger his daughter may be in or how strange it is to be out of the driver’s seat.

“We’re going to find them, Luca,” Street promises.

“Deacon is meeting some of the 50 squad guys at your house,” Hondo says. “Are you sure you want to roll with us?”

Luca nods once, leaving no room for further debate. He will do whatever he can to get his daughter home safely and be there when she’s found. With you back at HQ communicating between the teams and scouring cameras and internet messages for clues about where Darryl and Renee are and his team at his side, Luca knows the danger won’t hurt Lu. There’s no other choice.

Luca is walking out of Darryl Jones’ mother’s house - her empty house - when his phone rings. It’s an unknown number, but he answers it and immediately asks, “Lu?”

“Not exactly, Officer Luca.”

“Darryl Jones,” Luca replies, waving for Hondo.

“Good memory. I’ve got someone who wants to talk to you.”

“Mr. Luca?” Renee asks.

“Renee, what happened?” Luca demands.

“He was going to hurt my baby,” she whispers. “I’m sorry. But I won’t let him-“

“She’s not calling the shots,” Darryl interrupts while Renee whimpers as he rips the phone away.

“This has nothing to do with my daughter. It’s between me and you,” Luca says.

“It was. You led us here, Dominique,” Darryl replies, his voice low and tight.

“Lay one finger on my daughter-“

“Lu is fine. For now. Your house, tonight at 7. Just me and you. Understood, officer?”

Luca clenches his jaw before he agrees, “Understood.”

“Who was that? Darryl?” Hondo inquires as he reaches Luca’s side.

“No,” Luca lies. “Wrong number.”

Hondo nods and makes another promise he can’t keep about finding Lu and getting everyone home safely. Luca doesn’t listen, planning to make tonight go well without leading his daughter into a criminal’s trap.

“Where’s Deacon?” Luca asks.

Luca walks from the corner to his front yard, slowing when he sees Darryl Jones waiting on his porch. He sits on the stairs, tossing a tennis ball between his hands as he smiles.

“Where’s my daughter?” Luca asks.

“Inside with Renee. One word from me and they both get a bullet. Listen closely, Luca, this is what’s going to happen,” Darryl explains, standing as he threatens Luca’s daughter.

“So, Kyle’s here?”

Darryl’s face drops and Luca takes a step closer, his expression and tone serious as he adds, “Then it’s a good thing I didn’t come alone either. Let my daughter walk out to me unharmed and my team might give you a head start.”

“No, no, this wasn’t the deal,” Darryl argues, pulling a pistol from his waistband. “He will kill her.”

“For what?” Luca asks, forcing Darryl backward toward the front steps as he crowds him. “Because your brother didn’t get parole? It’s not my fault you both lived up to your potential.”

“That’s it!” Darryl snaps. “Kyle!”

“You’re right,” Hondo agrees, stepping out the front door with his gun aimed at Darryl. “That’s it. Drop your weapon and raise your hands where I can see them.”

“Your kid is dead, pig,” Darryl growls.

Hondo smiles at Luca over Darryl’s shoulder and gestures toward the house. When Luca looks to the side, Darryl lunges toward him. As Hondo rushes forward, Luca turns to the side and wraps his hands around Darryl’s arm to throw him to the ground. Dropping to his knee, Luca pins his daughter’s captor to the ground, driving his face into the dirt and handcuffing Darryl’s hands behind his back.

“There’s someone inside who’s like to see you,” Deacon announces as he leads Renee out of the front door with her baby against his side. “And someone at HQ who is very concerned about you both.”

Hondo takes Luca’s position before Luca runs inside.

“Dad!” Lu cries, jumping into his arms.

Luca pulls Lu tight against his chest, cradling her head beneath his chin. “I’ve got you,” he murmurs. “I love you, Lu.”

“I love you, Dad,” she replies. “It was scary. He-“

“I know,” Luca assures her. “It won’t happen again, sweetheart.”

“For you,” Street grumbles as he hands his phone to Luca. “You’re welcome.”

“Hello?” Luca greets, holding Lu with his free arm and kissing her forehead.

“Is Lu okay?” you ask. “Where are you?”

“We’re fine,” Luca answers. “We’re…” He looks at Lu and how her eyes move warily around the room before she hides her face against her father again. “Would you mind some company tonight?”

Back at HQ, you smile at the idea of having Luca and Lu with you tonight and helping them feel safe after the evening they’ve had. “I wouldn’t mind at all.”